


Dear Dad

by luckysilverbell



Category: MASH (TV), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Plot Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckysilverbell/pseuds/luckysilverbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the outbreak had happened in 1951 instead of now.</p><p>Written for the Walking Dead kink meme on LJ.</p><p>There are no characters from TWD in this story. It's all M*A*S*H, except for the zombie plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

M*A*S*H 4077  
Uijeongbu, South Korea  
April, 1951

_Dear Dad,_

_I don’t have a lot of time, so you’ll have to forgive me if this letter seems a bit on the abrupt side. You’re probably wondering why I’ve been out of touch for so long, and I promise it has nothing to do with our last conversation. On that note, now that I’ve had some time to think about it, you were right about Danny, and please tell him I’m sorry for being such an insensitive jerk._

_But on to more pressing matters._

_You know I was as surprised as you were when I got my draft notice—not only because I intentionally put in the wrong address, but because I didn’t even know we were at war. Last I heard, this was just a police action. Well, police action, my ass. I’m no expert on police matters, which is why I want you to check with Jimmy Martin up the road and see if grenades and M2 Carbines are standard issue when you get out of the police academy. I don’t care what the news says, dad. This is a war, plain and simple._

_But lately, things have really gotten weird around here. Well, weird er. I told you about Trapper, Ugly John and Spearchucker in my last letter, so you probably have a pretty good idea of just how disciplined the 4077th is. Everyone was pretty laidback until the choppers came in, and even when we were up to our elbows in blood and shredded intestines, we could still have our moments. _

_Not anymore._

_At first, I thought Henry had gone on leave and left Frank in charge again. But I quickly realized that if Frank was going to board up the Officer’s Club, he probably would have dismantled our still while he was at it. And since the still was left intact, we decided to drop it and move Happy Hour to the Swamp instead. Then that changed too._

* * *

 

“Alright, what’s the big idea, Henry?” Hawkeye snapped. “Closing the Officer’s Club I get. We deserved that. And if you want, I’ll even stay after class and do lines on the board.”

Trapper mimed writing on a chalkboard. “ _General… Clayton… is… not… a… piñata._ ”

“…but confining everyone to their tents?” Hawkeye continued. “Curfew at sundown? Blackout? Henry, if you’re going to punish someone for what we did to the General, then punish the responsible party! You don’t need to make the whole camp suffer.”

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose as he motioned for the two to sit. “This has nothing to do with General Clayton,” he began. “Luckily for you, he was a bit too drunk to remember anything.”

“Then _what_?” Trapper exclaimed. “The camp is crawling with MP’s! I’m really starting to feel like I’m in the Army now!”

Hawkeye feigned surprise. “And here I thought this was Cincinnati.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad guess.” Trapper replied.

* * *

 

_The thing about Henry Blake is that he always seems to be on the same wavelength as Trapper and I. But this man sitting in the C.O.’s office was Henry in appearance only. Never has he told us something was ‘classified’ or ‘need-to-know’. I wish I could say this was my first time being escorted to my tent by military police, but it was my first time under Henry’s orders._

_The next day, we didn’t have any casualties, so I finally got around to trying out that new 9-iron you sent me last month. Launching golf balls into the minefield is one of the few things about this war that I find relaxing. Trapper, ‘Chuck and Ugly John looked like they could use some relaxation too, so we bottled up what was in the still and made a party out of it. By the time Radar showed up, we were wasted._

* * *

 

“Hey, what are you _doing_?!” he spluttered. “Colonel Blake wants you in his office! Right now, sirs!”

Trapper clinked glasses with Spearchucker. “To Henry!” the latter slurred. “Buzzkill extraordinaire!”

“I’ll drink to that!” Hawkeye quipped, as Ugly John lined up his shot.

Radar seemed to puff with indignation. “He seemed really mad, Hawkeye!”

“He’s mad, I tell you! Mad!” Trapper called out.

Spearchucker snapped his fingers. “Jamaica Inn, 1939.”

“No, it’s ‘Here Comes Mr. Jordan’.” Trapper corrected.

“Nah, I think Spearchucker’s right.”

“Fore!!”

“C’mon, guys, I’m serious!” Radar snapped. “He’s already under enough stress as it is. Why do you have to be a bunch of—”

The resulting explosion almost drowned out the drunken cheers from the Swamp rats. “Hole in one!” Hawkeye cheered, and they all drained their glasses. Radar turned on heel and stormed off to Henry’s office, and the laughter gradually began to subside as the debris and dust settled. “Who’s next?”

* * *

 

_The MP’s showed up before Trapper could tee off, which is probably a good thing. We were all escorted to Henry’s office, where Ugly John was arrested and Trap, Chuck and I were sentenced to three weeks of bed arrest. In case you don’t know what that is, it’s when we spend all of our free time sitting at attention on our cots. The MP’s were only too happy to enforce this._

_I haven’t heard from Ugly John since then. Part of me feels a bit guilty, but the rest of me is just confused. I get that what we’ve been doing isn’t exactly military, but Henry’s never had a problem before. And when he does, he at least has the common courtesy to tell us first._

_Something’s wrong here, Dad. I’m afraid that there’s something bigger going on. Something they’re not telling us. They disabled the PA system, they’ve tripled the guards, and we’ve bugged out twice in the last month. No music, no movies, no loud activities. Even beeping horns in the motor pool is frowned upon._

_I’ll try to write again as soon as I can, if I don’t die of boredom first._

_Love, Hawkeye._


	2. Chapter 2

_Dear Dad,_

_I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—Korea stinks. Both figuratively and literally. It wasn’t literal before, but now there’s this strange smell in the air that makes me wish my tent was downwind from the cesspool. And before you ask, no, it’s not the kitchens. This whole place smells like death._

_I told you before that I’m stationed in a M*A*S*H unit outside of Uijeongbu. That’s only half true, because as of now, I’m not really sure where we are. We’ve bugged out so many times, that it’s really hard to keep track. Three times in the last two weeks we’ve packed up and moved. I’m not even bothering to unpack anymore. I also told you I was in the 4077th. That’s half-true now too, because another unit in the area—the 8063rd—was overrun and sort of unofficially merged with our unit. The Swamp has welcomed two new surgeons: BJ Hunniuctt and Major Charles Emerson Winchester (the third). Charles won’t talk to us Swamp rats, and BJ just won’t talk period. Not that I blame him, though. Details were a little iffy, but from what Radar told me, the 8063rd was attacked by enemy soldiers in the middle of the night. Less than a fourth made it out alive._

_Spearchucker Jones disappeared last week. Last time I saw him was the night before, when he snuck out of the Swamp for a rendezvous with Nurse Becky. He wasn’t back the next morning, and he never showed up to relieve me in Post-Op that afternoon. But I wasn’t worried until after I talked to Henry._

_Henry isn’t a good liar. Never has been. When I told him ‘Chuck had been missing since last night, he went whiter than blow. I honestly thought he was going to pass out, Dad._

* * *

 

The color drained from Henry’s face, and he pressed his hand flat on his desk to steady himself. “You’re absolutely sure about that?” he said slowly.

“Absolutely,” Hawkeye replied. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Jesus.” Henry shook his head weakly. “I’ll send out the MP’s but… well, he’s probably… Jesus, Pierce, why didn’t you stop him?!”

Hawkeye’s face was a portrait of indignation. “Stop him?” he exclaimed. “He shouldn’t have had to sneak out in the first place! You’ve gone off your rocker, Henry!”

“Oh no, no, don’t you go blaming this on me!” Henry snapped. “I don’t give orders. Ever! I’ve let you get away with a lot more than I should.” Hawkeye looked momentarily abashed. “I think I’ve earned a little bit of trust from you guys on this one.”

Hawkeye scuffed the toe of his boot on the floorboard. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Look, I didn’t mean… It’s just, after Ugly John, I thought…” His voice trailed off as a new thought sparked in his head. “Does this have anything to do with what happened at the 8063rd?”

Henry sighed as he sank back into his chair. “I promise I’ll explain soon,” he said. “Just bear with it for a little bit longer, okay?”

“Alright,” Hawkeye said simply. “Fine. But you’re buying everyone in the outfit a drink once this is done.”

“Deal.” Hawkeye turned to leave, but Henry’s voice stopped him once more. “Oh, and Pierce? Pack up Jones’ things, would you? Just in case.”

* * *

 

_Radar had already gathered the MP’s before I left Henry’s office. Now that I look back on it, I should have asked Radar what the hell was going on. If anyone would know, it’s him. Poor kid hasn’t really been himself lately. He’s only 17, and usually makes it painfully obvious that he’s just a kid by trying to act like one of the grown-ups. But now I’m starting to feel like he’s the captain, and I’m the corporal. The way he’s been barking orders to those MP’s and phone operators at I-CORP, you wouldn’t even know that this is the kid who was tripping over his own tongue asking Nurse Mitchell if she wanted a cup of coffee._

_The MP’s flipped the whole camp upside down that evening looking for Spearchucker, and when he didn’t turn up by sundown, they widened the search. I could hear them all night, running around the edge of camp. Charles was exhausted, so he was out before I realized sleep wouldn’t be an option. Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one._

* * *

 

“Any sign of him?” Trapper asked, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Hawkeye shook his head. “I can’t believe it. How the heck does a guy go missing right before a date with Nurse Becky?”

“If he was gonna go AWOL, you’d think he would’ve told us first.” Trapper rolled off his cot with a _thump_ and made his way to the still. “I’m worried,” he muttered. “ _Should_ I be worried? What did Henry say?”

“The usual,” Hawkeye groused. “I can’t say this, I-CORP said that, blah blah blah. Pour me one of those will ya?”

Trapper snickered. “I bet Spearchucker’s a hundred miles from here by now. Probably got a bunch of girls that make Becky look like an old—”

“He’s dead.”

Trapper’s hand jolted, nearly knocking over the martini glasses. “Did you just talk?” Hawkeye exclaimed, trying to untangle himself from the blanket as he sat up. “Hear that, Trap? BJ can talk! Maybe next the deaf will hear.” He stared pointedly at Charles, who pulled the blanket over his head in response.

“Yeah, I heard,” Trapper replied sharply. “What do you mean, dead?”

A gunshot rang out through the night air, followed by an echoing silence.

* * *

 

_They killed him, Dad. I saw them drag his body back into camp. One bullet, right between the eyes. I don’t know what kind of bogus letter the Army’s going to send to his family. Probably some lie about fighting for hot dogs, picket fences and the American way. I enclosed his family’s address with this letter. I’d write to them myself, but I’m worried the mail is being watched. Might look a bit weird if the camp’s resident malcontent is writing to Spearchucker’s family._

_I hope this letter gets to you soon. I just got the word that we’re bugging out yet again, so it might take a while. I miss you, and can’t wait to be out of this hell hole._

_Love, Hawkeye._


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Dad,_

_My last letter probably hasn’t even left Korea as I’m writing this, but I need someone else to know this. Believe me, the thought that I could be crazy has definitely crossed my mind, but crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, do they?_

_BJ told us everything. I may have mentioned that the 8063rd is the closest M*A*S*H unit to us, but what I didn’t mention is that in addition to being a surgical unit, it’s also where bodies are sent. They bury the Chinese and North Koreans on a mountainside outside the compound, and anyone we can’t save gets shipped to their camp for holding until the Army makes arrangements. I wonder where they sent Spearchuker’s body, now that the 8063rd’s gone._

_But I digress. I didn’t believe BJ at first when he told me what really happened over there. I usually don’t believe anything anyone says after they’ve had a couple glasses of our specialty poison, but poor BJ really looked like he needed a drink. Or ten. And Trapper and I were only too happy to oblige._

* * *

 

“This stuff is awful.” BJ’s face twisted as he swallowed. “You sure this is gin?”

Trapper poured himself a glass. “Nah, tastes more like gasoline. We’ll probably all be blind before the end of the war.”

BJ seemed to consider it for a second. “I’ll have another. Hold the olives.”

“Cheers!”

Three glasses later, BJ spoke again, and this time, his voice shook. “We’re all going to die here.”

“You sure are pleasant company,” Hawkeye quipped, spearing an olive with his toothpick.

BJ shot him an incredulous glare. “You’re only making jokes because Colonel Blake is keeping this place sheltered. You haven’t seen what it’s like out there!”

“Oh, haven’t I?” Hawkeye’s grin fell like a swatted fly. “Well, I get a pretty good taste of it every time I have to put these kids back together. Maybe I don’t know what a claymore looks like, but I’ve seen the damage they do! Isn’t that enough?”

“This has nothing to do with claymores,” BJ snapped, and Hawkeye’s retort died in his mouth.

Trapper tossed back the last of his martini. “Then enlighten us. Who’s gonna kill us if not the North Koreans?”

“Everyone.”

Hawkeye worked the now-empty glass out of BJ’s hand. “I think I get what’s going on here,” he said softly. “Beej, I know someone who can help you. His name is Sidney, and he’s seen a lot of cases like yours.”

“Get out of here, I don’t need a shrink!” BJ snapped. “I’m not crazy! It’s this war that’s crazy! It’s this damn virus!”

“Virus?” Trapper frowned as he sat on the cot next to Hawkeye. “What virus?”

BJ pressed his face into his clenched fists. “I don’t know where it came from,” he said softly. “And I don’t know what the Army said happened to the 8063rd, but I’ll tell you this much: It wasn’t enemy troops who attacked us that night.”

“Henry told us it was the Chinese,” Trapper muttered. “Well, if it wasn’t them, who was it?”

BJ took a steadying breath. “The ambulance brought in a wounded soldier the night before it happened,” he began. “Corporal Jameson. He was in pretty rough shape. Bullet wound to the shoulder, shrapnel in his leg, broken jaw, broken arm, bruises all over his face and chest, and there was a… a bite.” He pressed two fingers against his right bicep. “Right here. Huge chunk of flesh missing. We thought he’d run out of bullets and resorted to using his fists. Everyone in triage was impressed. It was heroic. Colonel Potter was going to put in his recommendation for Jameson’s promotion to Sergeant, but…”

“He died,” Trapper said, and BJ nodded.

“But he didn’t stay dead.” The air in the Swamp took on a chill as BJ continued. “Our chaplain, Father Renell, was praying over him when he…” For a few seconds, BJ seemed lost. “Jameson bit him. Right on the neck. Tore his throat out. Father Renell bled out before we could do anything to save him, which was probably for the best. There was no way we could have…”

* * *

 

_I didn’t believe him, Dad. I’ve seen people mistaken for dead before. And I’ve also seen people do crazy things when their minds break, so when you mix the two of them together, a traumatized soldier waking up surrounded by corpses bound for the morgue could probably have done a lot worse than biting a priest’s throat out. Of course I didn’t believe him. But it still scared me. He’d been drinking and he had seen most of his camp massacred a little more than a week ago. That would be enough to screw anyone up._

_We had a lot of rain over here a few weeks ago. It’s nothing like the little rain showers we got when me and Billy used to run down the street in our underwear and splash through the puddles. Over here, it’s a feeling I could only compare to standing directly beneath the Niagara Falls. And while I usually have no objection to getting wet, the rain really loses its appeal when your only options are wet or wetter. The whole compound flooded. The roof of the mess tent leaked, there were ankle-deep puddles in Henry’s office, the Swamp was a literal swamp, and rivers of mud connected them all._

_But that’s nothing new for us. It’s happened before, and we all knew it would happen again, which is why we weren’t too angry when the Army sent us all a truckload of rain slickers last winter. The 8063rd wasn’t as lucky. They’re situated between a few hills, which is good at keeping them hidden from any unwelcome visitors. When the rain came, it brought us puddles and leaks and general misery. It brought a mudslide with it to the 8063rd. Good thing we’re on Santa’s nice list._

_The mudslide itself wasn’t a big problem for them. The mud never reached the inside of the compound, and there wasn’t any damage. BJ said their main concern at first was clearing the road so more ambulances could get in._

* * *

 

“We all grabbed shovels. Doctors, nurses, corpsmen, cooks… heck, even Colonel Potter was out there with us! And we dug.” He pulled his knees to his chest as he spoke, eyes fixated on the corner of his cot. “Nurse Bower saw the first one. She started screaming for help, saying that there were people in the mud. Everyone rushed over to help her. They were still moving, so we figured they’d be okay if we could just dig them out. I recognized one of them as the Chinese soldier I’d operated on the week before. He’d hemorrhaged on the table before I could save him, and they… buried him on the mountainside outside of camp.”

Trapper winced. “The mudslide must’ve washed them all downhill,” he said. “That’s rough.”

“No, you aren’t hearing me!” BJ shouted abruptly. “They were _still moving._ The guy I recognized bit Nurse Bower’s ear clean off before I could warn anybody. And there were more. Lots more.”

“Listen to yourself, Beej,” Hawkeye said softly. “Listen to what you’re suggesting. The walking dead. You know there’s no possible way—”

BJ slammed a fist onto the side table. “I know that!” he snapped. “But how else would you explain it?! One guy bites the priest. Like you said, that one could be explained. But three, four, five, thirty enemy soldiers you and your colleagues personally pronounced dead and buried? There’s _no way_ we could make a mistake like that, and even if we had, they would have suffocated after being underground for a week! There is _no way_ they could have been alive!”

“So what happened to your camp?” Trapper asked. “Was it the zombies who killed everyone?”

“Not… entirely, no,” BJ replied. “Once we realized what they were, there was panic. Colonel Potter tried to restore order, but once those… things… were free of the mud, they started… _feasting_ on us. People ran. Some stayed back and tried to fight them off, but bullets wouldn’t stop them. Unless you shot them in the head, but it’s damn near impossible to get a headshot in the dark, even when it’s not raining and muddy. Some of the nurses and most of the doctors tried to get the wounded into ambulances, but when we opened the door, they were all dead. It was Captain Glasgow. He’d come in with a missing finger and appendicitis. Pretty routine, but we couldn’t get his fever to go down afterwards. When we came in, he was eating Sergeant Mitton’s spleen.” Hawkeye passed him another martini, which he drained in one long gulp. “It was every man for himself after that. Everyone ran. Some ran into the minefield in the confusion. Others got mistaken for biters and were shot or stabbed. A lot of them were eaten. Charles, Colonel Potter and I managed to round up a bunch of the corpsmen and what was left of the nurses, and ran. We couldn’t take a jeep because of the rain, and we couldn’t see where we were going in the dark. After an hour, I would’ve given my left arm to run into an enemy patrol. At least the North Koreans are _alive_.”

* * *

 

_I didn’t want to believe it. But I had to at least give him the benefit of the doubt, if not simply because if he was right, burying my head in the sand was only going to get me killed. I know better than to ask Henry. If BJ's right, then all the changes in camp make sense, especially with Colonel Potter helping run things. If these walkers are attracted to sound, then nixing music and the PA system seems logical. And keeping everyone in their tents is a good way of keeping track of everyone. And if a bullet to the head is the only way to kill them, then I’m starting to wonder what really happened to Spearchucker._

_Are these things still out there? Is that why we keep bugging out? I’m really freaking out here, Dad. Keep your ears open, and let me know what’s going on on your end. BJ says it’s a virus that reanimates corpses. Do you have any colleagues in virology or microbiology that could explain any of this?_

_I love you, Dad. Stay safe, and I’ll write back as soon as I hear anything._

_Hawkeye._


End file.
